Wicked Beauty

by Susan Lewis

  ‘And just what kind of threat is that?’ she’d screamed at him.

  ‘Stacey,’ he’d replied curtly, ‘give the damned things back, then leave the Maxtons alone. There’s nothing between me and Rachel Hendon, and I have no intention of leaving you, but the way you’re going about this might just change my mind.’

  He’d cut the line then, and obviously turned off the phone, for she’d been unable to get through again, so she’d been left alone with her rage and fear – and the sick, pornographic poems, that just no way was she giving back. They were all she had to fight Rachel Hendon with, because that last comment of his, that he might change his mind about leaving, had told her, more clearly than anything, that the sly, conniving bastard was already planning it. He probably just didn’t want to cause his precious Rachel any distress while she was pregnant, so he was waiting until the child was born to make the break from his rash and unpredictable wife. She could even hear him saying it!

  Well, the hell was she going to let that happen, either then, or now. He was her husband, her lover, her future, and if he thought she was stupid enough to believe there was no affair, when the sheer intimacy of putting his hands on the woman’s pregnant belly, when it wasn’t even his baby … Jesus Christ, just because he hadn’t spent the night with her last weekend didn’t mean he hadn’t screwed her in the Caribbean, or that he didn’t want to now, or wasn’t planning to in the future. Maybe she was too pregnant now, or the baby was in the wrong position. What the hell did she know? She’d never been pregnant, because he wouldn’t allow it. Yet there he was, down there in Cornwall, fussing over the dead man’s widow, as though it was his child she was carrying. And maybe it was. Anything was possible, because he was such a lying, cheating, duplicitous son-of-a-bitch, that for all she knew even his name was a lie.

  Throwing more clothes into a suitcase, she stormed back across the bedroom and into the bathroom. Spotting his shaving brush and razor hooked on a stand, she picked up the whole lot and hurled it into the shower. Then with a growl of rage, she sank to her knees, seething and sobbing and pleading with God for this not to be happening. She’d given him everything, didn’t he understand that? Fantastic sex, a great social life, his independence, his freedom; she was beautiful, intelligent, she made no demands, never asked questions … What more did he want? How could Rachel Hendon be any better? How could she even begin to understand what kind of man he really was? She had no idea what it took to satisfy him, or to understand his complexities. Surely to God he must know that, but even if he did, it was still Rachel Hendon he’d rushed off to after a terrible scene with his wife; Rachel Hendon he’d spent the weekend with, and Rachel Hendon he hadn’t been able to leave without seeing, while his own wife had only been worthy of a phone call that had ended with a threat that was driving her into a frenzy of fear.

  Still shaking and sobbing, she picked herself up from the floor, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, then gathered together what she needed. After packing, she went to the phone and tried again to call Petey. She’d neither seen nor heard from him since the night of the party, which was adding another frightening dimension to her despair, for apart from him she had no real friends. Certainly no one she could trust, so where was he, for God’s sake? She’d never needed him more, yet he’d disappeared from the face of the earth, and wasn’t even returning her calls.

  Getting his voice mail again, she cleared her throat and in a voice still thick with tears, she said, ‘Petey, I don’t know what I’ve done, but whatever it is, I’m sorry. Please call me back. I need the number I asked for. My agent’s lost it, but if you still have it … If you don’t want to speak to me then text it. Please. But call me.’

  Seconds after she’d hung up, the phone rang.

  ‘Stacey. It’s Anna. Please can we talk –’

  ‘Forget it,’ Stacey snapped, and slammed the phone down.

  A few hours later she was at the wheel of her car en route to Cornwall. Professional to the last, that was what they’d say about her, for she hadn’t let Ernesto down, or anyone else that she knew of. She’d made sure everything was taken care of, before leaving London, and now she was already halfway to the house, with no idea of what she was going to find when she got there. Secretly, she was terrified, for since Elwyn and Felicity had left for a fortnight’s holiday, she’d had no one to keep her informed of what was going on, so there was a chance Chris might have returned. Damned mobile phones that made it impossible to know where someone was, for he could so easily be lying when he insisted, impatiently, each time she asked, that no, he wasn’t even in England. If he was telling the truth, then she just hoped to God that she wasn’t going to find Rachel Hendon was missing too, because if she was … Well, she didn’t even want to think about what she’d do, she only wanted to keep believing, at least for now, that wherever either of them were, they weren’t together.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, answering her mobile.

  No one responded, then realizing the ring was alerting her to a text, she quickly pressed in the code. With her eyes flicking between the read-out and the road she started to frown, puzzled by the message. Then she realized it was the number she’d asked Petey for. So he really was avoiding her, for there was no other message, nothing to say where he was or why he wasn’t getting in touch. She wondered what she’d done to offend him so much. Then a quick surge of venom stopped her caring. Fuck him! She didn’t need him. If anything it was the other way round, which he’d find out when she turned him in to the police for the smuggling and dealing of illegal substances, which, she’d just discovered, he’d been carrying out in her name. Oh yes, she had the little shit well and truly stitched up over that, and herself well covered, so maybe he, like a lot of other people she knew, was about to find out just how big a mistake it was to cross Stacey Greene.

  Not until she was as far as Devon did she pull off the road to write down the number Petey had left. Then taking out her mobile she began punching it in. Her heart was tight with nerves, for she wasn’t at all sure what to expect from this call, or even if making it was a good idea. In fact, she probably had it all wrong, and was about to make a total fool of herself …

  After four rings a male voice said, ‘Hello.’

  Stacey took a breath. ‘Uh, I had a message to call Lee Krasner.’

  There was a pause at the other end, then he said, ‘Who’s calling, please?’

  ‘Stacey Greene.’

  Again a pause, then he said, in a voice that was noticeably more accented than before, ‘Yes, Miss Greene, thank you for getting back to me. We have a mutual friend … Are you aware of whom I am speaking?’

  Ten minutes later, stunned, yet buzzing with adrenalin, Stacey put the phone back on the seat next to her and clutched her hands to her mouth as though to hold back a hysterical urge to laugh. So it was Katherine Sumner who’d been trying to get hold of her, though not in a million years would she ever have guessed the reason why. It was still making her light-headed just to think of it, even slightly queasy, for what they were asking her to do … What she could end up getting involved in … But if this wasn’t Providence calling then nothing was, for the timing, the person, even the locale, now she herself had suggested it …

  She remained as she was, eyes closed, hands bunched in front of her face. Her mind was moving so fast it was scaring her, for what she was thinking now was crazy, even for her. She must make herself calm down, think rationally and clearly, because it wasn’t just any crime Katherine Sumner was wanted for, it was murder, which meant the risk involved in getting her into the country was going to be far greater than any Stacey had ever taken before – though it wouldn’t be her taking it, it would be Nick and Zac. She’d have to make sure that they had absolutely no idea who their passenger was, and somehow convince them that she didn’t either: it was just a favour she was doing someone, no questions asked. Lee Krasner, or whoever he was, had said there was no shortage of cash, so that would help, and Katherine herself would take c
are of a false identity.

  For a moment, as the thrill of it yielded to unease, and even fear, she almost turned the car round and headed straight back to London. After all, what she was planning might, by some horrible quirk, end up hurting Chris in a way that would have far more disastrous results for them both than she was able to imagine. But then the image of his hands moving over Rachel Hendon’s pregnant belly sent such a malicious urge for revenge through her heart that she resolved to do it, because nothing else, not even Robert Maxton’s poems, could ever offer such a foolproof way of getting Rachel Hendon out of Chris’s life, and, ultimately, that was all that mattered.

  Anna’s dread was already turning to panic as Petey came into the coffee bar. From his expression she could see it wasn’t going to be good news, and though it probably wasn’t his fault she wanted to strike him with all the might of her frustration.

  ‘They weren’t there,’ he said, sliding into the seat facing her and looking none too happy about it himself. ‘The place is a mess, though. She must have been going all out ballistic to have smashed it up like that.’

  Alarmed by the idea of such violence, Anna said, ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘No sign of her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s gone to Cornwall. I tried calling Elwyn who manages the estate, but he turned out to be in Wales, so he couldn’t tell me whether she’s there or not.’

  Anna’s thoughts were going in too many directions. ‘Do you think she’ll have the poems with her?’ she said, forcing herself to stay focused.

  He looked up as a waitress approached. ‘Tall decaff latte,’ he ordered. ‘I expect so,’ he said to Anna.

  ‘Then you have to get them,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ve got to have them back. If she publishes them, or even if she doesn’t, she could hold them over us and God knows what she might try to blackmail out of us …’

  He nodded in agreement. ‘It’s a horrible thought,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid your sister’s really hit where it hurts, because Stacey’s always been very precious about her husband.’

  ‘I know, but what are we going to do?’ Anna interrupted.

  He shrugged. ‘I guess first, we need to find out if she is in Cornwall,’ he said. ‘I take it your sister’s there. Can you call her?’

  ‘She’s at the clinic this morning,’ she answered, ‘but I don’t want to get her any more involved than she already is. She’s pregnant, and if Stacey’s in such a state that she’s smashed up the flat …’ Her mind reeled away from the thought. ‘Isn’t there someone else you can call, besides this Elwyn? One of the fishermen who’s been doing the smuggling?’

  Alarmed, he glanced around to make sure no one had heard. ‘I don’t have direct contact with them,’ he answered quietly. ‘Elwyn does all that, but I’ll speak to him again, see what he can find out.’

  She waited as he dialled Elwyn’s number. ‘OK,’ he said, after telling Elwyn what he needed, ‘he’s going to make a couple of calls and ring back. There’s a chance he’ll call Stacey though, you should be aware of that, and if he tells her I’m trying to find out where she is … Well, she’ll definitely find that odd when I could call her myself and ask.’

  Anna’s eyes were showing her despair. ‘Then why don’t you?’ she implored.

  ‘I’ve already explained,’ he replied. ‘Call it instinct, or survival, whatever you like, I just know this is a time to keep my distance. She’s got too much on me, and frankly I’m afraid she’ll try and use it to make me do something – well, a lot worse than smuggling pot, now I know all this is going on.’

  Anna wasn’t going to allow herself to think about what he was implying, because she had to stay focused. It should have been such a simple operation for him to go in there and get those poems, but now it turned out he was more afraid of Stacey shopping him than he was of her, and she couldn’t think what to do next.

  She started as her mobile rang. Recognizing Robert’s number on the read-out, she clicked it on. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said brightly. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Not bad. We’re about to take a quick break for lunch. The editors are going to the pub, but I don’t feel like it. Any chance you might be free?’

  ‘Of course.’ She wondered how he was handling having to look at Stacey over and over and over, but she wouldn’t ask in front of Petey. ‘I’ll have to bring the girls,’ she told him. ‘Cecily’s got a yoga class at two.’

  ‘Perfect,’ he responded. ‘Get here as soon as you can.’

  By the time she rang off Petey was talking on his own phone.

  ‘OK, thanks, sweetie, I owe you,’ he said, ending the call. ‘Elwyn,’ he told Anna. ‘Apparently she is at the house.’

  Dismay and fear burned like ice in Anna’s chest at the idea of the woman being so close to Rachel. ‘Will you go down there?’ she said, plaintively, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said shaking his head. ‘No can do.’

  She bit back her frustration. There was no point threatening him again, when Stacey obviously had the edge over her on that. ‘OK,’ she said, forcing herself to be pleasant. ‘If you can just tell me where the house is, and where exactly you think she’d keep them.’

  His surprise showed, though if she was intending to try to get them herself it seemed he wasn’t going to stand in her way. ‘Well, the house itself you can’t miss,’ he told her. ‘You can’t see it from the road, but it’s the only set of gates on the way to Kynance, about a mile off the main road on the left. And my guess is, she’ll either put them in one of the drawers, next to her bed in the master suite, which is on the first floor, or somewhere in her desk in the studio, which is where she tends to keep most of her personal papers and things. My money’s on there, actually. They’re in a big white envelope, by the way.’

  ‘And the studio’s where?’

  ‘There’s a new wing. Garages on the ground floor, studio above. There’s even an outdoor staircase leading up to the studio, and the door’s not always locked.’

  Feeling faintly breathless, Anna thanked him, then taking out her purse to put some money on the table, she got up to go. ‘If you happen to find out anything else …’ she said.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he promised, pushing the money back. ‘But I should warn you, I probably won’t be around much longer. I’ve got this friend in LA, he reckons I should find it easy to get work over there, plenty of egos to be pampered and starry whims to indulge, and you know me, nothing if not the perfect fag-totum.’

  Anna smiled weakly at the pun, then turned and walked out of the door, feeling alone, and afraid, but still fully focused on ending this nightmare.

  It was absurd to be feeling nostalgic about a place she hadn’t even left yet, or had barely even gotten to know, but that was how Katherine was feeling, as she took a last look around the small but comfortably furnished room of the three-star hotel in the beautiful old town of Locarno. She’d never see it again, she knew that, and after so hating being cooped up here, and being driven half crazy by the bump and grind of the noisy elevator outside, it seemed almost perverse to be feeling this sorry. But it was like saying goodbye to a stranger who’d provided calm in a crisis, for this room had allowed her to feel safe for a while – it might even be the last place that ever would.

  The thought caused her a jolt of nerves, despite the inner calm she’d spent the past hour trying to summon through Vedic meditation and chants. She was unpractised in the skills, but even so they helped, and she was likely to need them a lot over the next few hours.

  Letting the door swing to behind her, she crossed the shadowy landing to the elevator, and pressed to go down. Xavier had left two days ago, and now, strangely, she wished he were still here to stop her. But he had arrangements to make, and his own safety to think of. She’d received a hotmail from him late last night, telling her to start making her way towards the north-west coast of France as soon as she could. It had been no more specific than that, but she knew he’d contact her again, p
erhaps by morning, to tell her which airfield or seaport she should be heading for, and where to go and whom to contact once there.

  He hadn’t actually said so, but by signing off his email as Lee Krasner, he’d let her know that Stacey Greene, the woman she’d bonded with so briefly at that party, was coming through. She could hardly dare believe that someone who had so much to lose would put herself on the line like this. Silently and fervently, she transmitted her thanks to the beautiful redhead she remembered, and prayed to God that she’d do nothing to jeopardize Stacey’s integrity as a law-abiding citizen, or, most of all, to endanger her life. But there should be no reason for that; just as long as she got into the country, and into a safe house, there would be no need to impose on Stacey any further. Until a few weeks ago she’d have been equally concerned about getting out of the country again, but things had changed since then, so now that particular issue was no longer a problem.

  After settling the bill, she allowed the driver to take her bag out to the taxi, while carrying the briefcase and laptop herself. With a pang of wistfulness she looked across to where an old man was walking his grandson around the wall of a fountain, then getting into the taxi she put her head back and closed her eyes. In a moment or two Locarno old town would already be a memory. She took several quick breaths, in-out, in-out, in-out, as though it might speed her mind towards her goals. She’d get through this, she was certain of it. By taking each step at a time, and keeping herself totally centred, everything she was setting out to accomplish would be accomplished, including the crossing of the Swiss/French border with a gun. She’d already managed it from France into Italy, and Italy into Switzerland, in spite of the increased security – being a blasé Caucasian American, with ample cleavage and thigh on show, helped a lot, especially when she threw out her arms in a blatant invitation to be groped.